Science Fiction Studies

#79 = Volume 26, Part 3 = November 1999

Domna
Pastourmatzi

Hellenic Magazines of Science Fiction

Many Greek readers were introduced to science fiction during the 1960s, when a
small group of publishers (Galaxias, Skiouros, Kaktos, Exantas, and Chrysi Tomi)
began printing translations of established authors. It was a modest beginning:
the entire decade of the 1960s saw just eleven novels and one anthology
translated into Greek.1 (This figure does not include the works of
Jules Verne, which have been available in Greece since the first decades of the
twentieth century.) Interest in science fiction greatly increased after 1976,
when democracy was restored and Greek publishers began to search for new
material. Over 120 novels and 230 stories were translated during the 1970s, most
between 1976 and 1979: work by American men predominated.2 This
unprecedented acceleration in translation and publication led the editor
Christos Lazos to claim the 1970s as “a fertile decade for sf in Greece” (29).
Dimitris Panayiotatos went even further: “It wouldn't be an exaggeration ... to
talk of a science-fiction and fantasy orgasm in Greece in the last three years”
(47). He added: “aficionados and dilettantes publish obsessively whatever the
former select and whatever the latter can get their hands on, since the genre
has become a trend and sells well” (48).

Yet the temporary boost in sales was not accompanied by an equally favorable
critical response. Flooding the book market with sf texts aroused suspicion and
hostility, for the sociopolitical climate was unfriendly to any endeavor that
smacked of pro-Americanism. Greece was trying to recover from a seven-year
dictatorship (1967-1974), and most intellectuals, particularly those of the left
wing, believed that the United States had supported the junta and was partly
responsible for the political afflictions the Greeks had endured. Perceived as
American “paraliterature,” a vehicle of escape from the major social problems
facing the country, science fiction could neither command the attention of
mainstream literary magazines nor excite the interest of a politicized critical
establishment. Odysseas Hatzopoulos, owner of Kaktos, discovered that publishing
science fiction has a price in Greece. He published many novels by Isaac Asimov
(both from the Foundation and Robot series) as well as by Arthur C. Clarke,
meeting only with scorn and ridicule. Stigmatized as incapable of engaging in
“serious” literary production, Hatzopoulos launched a series of classical Greek
writers in modern Greek in order to salvage his business.3

The hostility against science fiction aimed to keep the boundaries of
belles lettres intact. From the start, science fiction was locked in a
ghetto. As Christos Lazos points out, “various circles decided that it
disorients the public from its daily problems” and allows “the American
subculture to penetrate Greece” (24). Critical aspersions against the field and
its representatives “worked as a catalyst and influenced the reading public
negatively” (Lazos 24). In his introduction to To Elliniko Fantastiko Diigima
(The Hellenic Fantastic Short Story, 1987), translator, editor, and writer Makis
Panorios confirms the disdain for fantastic literature so widespread among
mainstream literary circles in Greece: “nowadays the myopic aestheticians,
scholars, critics, and writers are pervaded by a scornful arrogance manifested
in the categorization of fantastic literature as para-literature and in their
perception of sf as negative, even ‘fascist’” (16-17). In Synigoria tis
Paralogotechnias (The Defense of Paraliterature, 1982), the only critical
book yet written by a Greek academic on popular fiction, Petros Martinides4
claims that science fiction is a subliterary product for the semiliterate,
impossible to conceive of as competing with the masterpieces of the “serious”
literary canon.

Despite the unfavorable critical climate, the Greek sf scene during the 1970s
was characterized by unusual risk taking among some publishers. Fans themselves,
eager to provide outlets for work in the genre, launched the first magazines and
fanzines, aiming to inform, entertain, and unite the scattered sf readership.
The odds were against them, but they proceeded with a stubborn determination to
defend and promote science fiction.

Whereas the popular science monthlies Ainigmata tou Symbantos (Riddles
of the Universe, 1975-81) and Analogio (1976-1977) featured translated sf
stories and so played a role in cultivating a taste for the fantastic in
literature, the first magazine devoted exclusively to sf was Andromeda, which
appeared in October 1977 with Christos Lazos as editor and Makis Panorios as
manager. Though financially supported by the publishing house Chrysi Tomi, it
did not survive beyond the first issue, even though it sold 3,200 copies—a
record for Greece at that time. The instant demise of Andromeda portended
the fate of similar experiments. In April 1978, Angelos Mastorakis published
Nova: A Monthly Magazine of Science Fiction, which folded after only four
issues. Seven years of inertia followed. In 1985, Panagiotis Skayiannis created
the first Hellenic fanzine, Quark, exchanged or distributed free to all
interested parties. Its successor appeared in April 1989 with the title
Esoteriko Diastima (Internal Space). Both these fanzines fizzled out after
the first issue, but they were important steps in the eventual establishment of
magazine sf in Greece.

Originating in profit-seeking rather than any serious commitment to the
genre, the interest of publishers in sf during the late 1970s could not last.
Financial problems and dwindling sales obliged the few publishers dabbling in sf
to seek genres with more reliable returns. Inevitably, enthusiasm gave place to
disappointment; sf fans kept a low profile, gathering ammunition for a future
crusade. The slump that began in 1981 lasted five years, after which new
translations again inundated the market. In 1986, Orora launched an
affordable series of paperback novels and also a pocket-sized multivolume
anthology of the fantastic, now in its 59th volume. This second wave of
translations after 1986 revitalized interest in sf and rekindled the desire to
establish a Hellenic magazine that would cater to the needs of a growing
readership.

Ars Longa/Para Pente, specializing in popular fiction and comics, published
the first issue of Apagorevmenos Planitis (Forbidden Planet) in March
1987; this was a bimonthly with a color cover and black-and-white interior
illustrations. In a Foreword to the first issue, the publisher Yiorgos Bazinas
assured readers that his staff would take pains to “familiarize, inform, and
promote the enjoyment of science fiction” (2). In a long essay titled “Science
Fiction for Beginners and the Advanced,” an anonymous author tried to define the
genre's characteristics and scope. He presented an outline of its historical
development, described various awards, and clarified such terms as “pulp,” “soft
sf,” “hard sf,” “space opera,” “New Wave,” and “cyberpunk” (4-15). The
translated short stories of Robert Silverberg, Philip K. Dick, Hilary Bailey,
Laurence Janifer, Ursula K. Le Guin, Samuel R. Delany, Harlan Ellison, Tanith
Lee, and James Tiptree, Jr. took up most of the first issue: unfortunately,
however, the original titles of their stories were not provided. The same was
true of a short interview with Delany, identified only by a note indicating that
the first printing was in Heavy Metal (January 1983). The practice of
publishing translated stories without providing the original publication data
continued until the eighth issue.

Apagorevmenos Planitis broke new ground as the first Hellenic sf
magazine to professionalize the field, securing enough financial backing to last
ten issues. In the second issue (Summer 1987), an unsigned editorial thanked
Greek readers for embracing this ambitious endeavor, apologizing at the same
time for the “inevitable delay” in publication of the second issue, attributed
to the fact “that several of the magazine's basic collaborators were still
burdened with their military service” (2). Pleading for understanding, the
editor promised more regular circulation in the future. True to its commitment
to “inform,” the magazine printed “Sex, Women and Taboo in SF” by Dimitris
Arvanitis, who argued that “science fiction, having a puritan and masculine
tradition” (4), featured until recently female stereotypes that catered to the
fantasies of male writers and readers. A welcome surprise in this issue was the
announcement of a sf writing competition sponsored by the Greek Secretariat of
Youth, open to all persons from 15 to 30. The objective was to “encourage Greek
youth and expatriates of the Greek diaspora to indulge in the literature of sf”
(136).

The editorial in the third issue (June 1988) was once again apologetic, for
it took Apagorevmenos Planitis almost a year to find its way back to the
bookstores. To keep pace with developments abroad, the issue focused on major
authors of cyberpunk. The first three issues had a large size (6.5 x 23 cm) and
consisted of 135 pages each. The fourth issue (Nov.-Dec. 1988) became even
larger (20.5 x 27.5 cm). The editor proclaimed that Apagorevmenos Planitis had
entered a new phase: leaner (pages were reduced to 105) but with writing of
better quality. The editorial in that fourth issue contested the prevailing
critical bias that accused sf of offering nothing but “frivolous space
adventures full of monstrous aliens,” enticing readers into a fantasy world and
consequently promoting “escapism” (4). Countering this view, the editor claimed
that “real science fiction cannot evade a political stance, as the regular
reader cannot avoid the vision of futuristic utopias or the nightmare of
potential dystopias” (4). The sociopolitical dimensions of the genre, as well as
the link between scientific advances, current affairs, and literary imagination,
were also discussed in a short essay on space and politics, a report on
denuclearized zones, an article on psychedelic drugs, and a piece by Gavin
Browning (“Scientism in Science Fiction”) reprinted from the Spring 1985 issue
of Foundation.

Even as late as the seventh issue (April-May 1989), the editor of
Apagorevmenos Planitis complained about the obscure position of science
fiction in the Hellenic literary scene:

the current situation of sf in Greece, one may say, is “nebular.” It is a
field of literature systematically ignored by newspapers and magazines, even in
their literary sections. As for the specialized journals, it does not exist.
Even the identity of those who read science fiction is unknown, for beyond a
small core of fans—themselves more familiar with sf up to the sixties—most
people link sf in a weird manner with the metaphysical pseudosciences and the
UFOs. (4)

An admirer of the “dangerous ideas” associated with contemporary writers, the
editor defended the magazine’s decision to promote recent sf texts rather than
going back to representative texts from the Golden Age or even Jules Verne and
H.G. Wells. Aware that the road traversed by pioneers is rough and full of
unforeseen challenges, Bazinas took every measure to keep his magazine available
to loyal readers. Reduced to eighty-one pages in the eighth issue (June-July
1989), Apagorevmenos Planitis continued to offer information on current
scientific advances, critical commentary on films, updates on the Nebula and
Hugo awards, book and film reviews, short biographical notes, and a wide
assortment of translated stories.

Unable to maintain the large size, the founder of Apagorevmenos Planitis
tried to curtail expenses by shrinking issues nine and ten to 100 pages: the
price remained the same. In the tenth and final issue, published in Fall 1990,
the editor attempted to conceal the magazine’s imminent demise by boasting that
Apagorevmenos Planitis was “not only the single Hellenic magazine devoted
to science fiction but also the one with the longest lifespan” (4). The magazine
had managed to survive for three consecutive years, setting a record for
longevity. But the simultaneous confession that it was still plagued by
financial difficulties, irregular circulation, and a sense of insecurity
mitigated the triumphant flavor. Moreover, the editorial acknowledged that the
diverse tastes of individual Greek readers had generated confusion about what
constitutes “quality” science fiction. The feedback he received as editor was
not clear. To make matters worse, “the sales of cheap books with poor
translations seemed to rival the sales of more serious works, pointing to the
sad conclusion that the small number of loyal fans would buy indiscriminately
anything that carried the label sf” (4). Notwithstanding all obstacles,
Apagorevmenos Planitis, in its ten issues, published sixty-eight short
stories and fifty-one novellas, a record to be challenged only by its own
successor in the mid-1990s. The strong interest in English texts gave the lion’s
share to translated American writers, who from the start dominated and continue
to dominate the Hellenic sf market.5 Most of the writers featured in
the magazine were introduced to the Greek public for the first time.

The disappearance of Apagorevmenos Planitis left a gap. Fans lost the
only professional forum they had. Of course, they had a steady supply of
translated novels and anthologies to satiate their hunger, but the quality of
the translations was uneven, and most lacked biographical and critical
information about the authors they introduced. Most of the sf translations being
printed were amateurish jobs geared toward quick profits. In May 1990, Kostas
Koutsoukos and veteran Christos Lazos embarked on a new venture with the
objective of promoting Greek writers. The first issue of the nonprofit fanzine
Cyborg was handmade; it had a black-and-white cover and twenty-five
photocopied pages. Scheduled as a bimonthly (a goal never achieved), the fanzine
sought to provide a venue for aspiring novices to present their work and also to
strengthen the ties within the sf community. Christos Lazos recounted previous
attempts to launch Greek fanzines and provided a short report on the activities
of native writers. Excerpts from Sam J. Lundwall’s Science Fiction: What It’s
All About (1971) were printed to enhance the readers’ knowledge. The first
two stories featured in Cyborg were “Dear Pen Pal” by A.E. Van Vogt and
“Master of the Universe” by Andreas Doupas. Brief book reviews were added to the
contents of the second issue (July 1990). An extensive plot summary of the rare
pamphlet Oi Piratai ton Planiton (The Pirates of the Planets, 1948) by
Athanasios Tsongas gave a glimpse of a text previously unavailable to most.
Three new short stories were printed: “Contact” by Christos Lazos, “Other Than
the Storms” by Kostas Koutsoukos, and “Mythic Circuits” by Yiorgos Goulas.
Foreign science fiction was represented by translations of stories by Hugo
Correa, Fredric Brown, and Anthony Boucher.

A dispute between Lazos and Koutsoukos resulted in the former’s withdrawal,
and issue three was delayed until November. Ambitious to transform the fanzine
Cyborg into “a collector’s item,” Koutsoukos raised the price. At the
same time, he invoked personal obligations to excuse its belated appearance.
“Living Dead” by Kostas Makriyiannis, “All Hunters” by Panagiotis Koustas,
“Asenath 2361” by Rania Katsarea, a short article on H.P. Lovecraft, a poem by
L. Sprague de Camp, and a news column filled the pages of the third issue.
Cyborg never managed to appear on schedule: from November 1990 to November
1995, only seven issues were published. No spectacular changes in content
justified earlier grandiose announcements; in fact, far from becoming a
nurturing ground for Greek writers, the fanzine was transformed into a personal
forum through which Koutsoukos vented his opinions about current events and
topics, corresponded with fans, and reprinted articles and stories he had
written and published in other magazines. Many pages of the later issues were
devoted to award and bibliographical lists and news items reprinted from
Locus. All in all, Cyborg printed twenty stories, of which twelve
were ascribed to Greeks.6 After the seventh issue, the fanzine
stopped appearing.

As the former editor-in-chief of Andromeda, the first Hellenic magazine of
science fiction, Christos Lazos could not remain inert after his departure from
Cyborg. He knew that several thousand dedicated Greek fans hungered for a
magazine that would be able to maintain a regular presence, keep them informed
about new publications, and provide an outlet for their own writings. Greek fans
needed to keep in touch with each other: the best way to do that was through the
pages of an affordable magazine and the endeavors of an indefatigable editor.
Thus, almost thirteen years after its unexpected birth and unfortunate death,
Andromeda was resurrected, this time as a fanzine. Wrapped in
black-and-white covers (photocopies of old pulp covers from Amazing,
Astounding, Startling, Science Wonder Stories, etc.), the 20 to 25 typed
pages of Andromeda offered an editorial, a news column, articles,
interviews, biographies, book reviews, and short stories, often illustrated with
black ink sketches. In his first issue, Lazos explained that his fanzine was “a
labor of love,” put together in his spare time “without motive for profit”; he
hoped that Andromeda would become the “incubator” for a new generation of
Greek writers (3). He devoted the fanzine exclusively to the native crop and
against the odds succeeded in delivering it bimonthly.

With the longest life span of any Greek fanzine (Sept. 1990-Sept. 1994),
Andromeda ended after its twenty-fifth issue. It is a great accomplishment
that it remained so long afloat despite financial difficulties and limited
distribution outlets (a few bookstores in Athens and Thessaloniki carried it;
many copies were sold by subscription). In it had appeared fifty-four stories,
three written by women. (Very few women in Greece even read science fiction,
although this has begun to change.) Andromeda’s discontinuation was
unfortunate. Nonetheless, through it Lazos managed to generate additional
interest in fantastic literature (both foreign and domestic) and to encourage
young Greeks to challenge their imaginations. All in all, Andromeda’s
contribution to the development of Hellenic science fiction was invaluable.

The 1990s have been characterized by another surge in translations. There has
been a steady output of novels, anthologies, and collections, predominantly by
Anglophone writers. A panhellenic bibliographical inquiry conducted by
Ichneftis (a journal devoted to book statistics) concluded that the number
of published sf texts had doubled between 1991 and 1992; the journal therefore
defined 1992 as “the year of sf” (Voukelatos 15). Issue 5 of the same journal
(April-June 1993) stated that one of every three translations in the first five
months of 1993 belonged to the genre of the fantastic (4). The omens looked good
and the future promising, but events of the early 1990s showed that launching
new sf magazines in Greece remained a high risk enterprise.

Apparently inspired by the favorable news, Angelos Mastorakis attempted to
resuscitate Nova in June 1993. Failure was unavoidable because he
overextended himself by providing a slick magazine (28 x 20.5 cm) with colorful
covers, quality paper, expensive graphics, and a stiff price. He also
concentrated mainly on foreign writers.7 Insufficient funds doomed the magazine
after its second issue. Divided into three sections, the new Nova offered
scientific news, book and film reviews, and short biographical notes and
interviews. The two issues of Nova also printed eleven translated
stories. The only contribution by a Greek author was “In the Whirlpools of
Time,” a story by Pavlos Methenitis.

Diamantis Florakis, who has written ten sf novels since 1973, decided to try his
luck in the magazine arena, publishing Chorochronos (Spacetime) in the
spring of 1994. He managed to produce five issues in one year before giving up.
In his words, this “experimental” magazine aspired to “widen” the scope of
fantastic literature in Greece. Good intentions, however, cannot keep a
makeshift publication afloat. Moreover, the editor could not resist the
temptation of turning Chorochronos into an advertisement for his own
novels, so its appeal did not last. Too many pages were devoted to excerpts from
his second novel, The Ponotrons and The Anarchists of the Absolute.
Averaging fifty photocopied pages, Chorochronos printed a total of
thirteen stories: seven by foreign writers and six stories and two novellas by
Greeks.8

The short life span of all the aforementioned magazines (the comparatively
long-lived Andromeda is the only exception) has not functioned as a deterrent.
Greek publishers with a special interest in science fiction refuse to surrender
to disheartening precedents and continue to pour money into new experiments. The
newly-established (as of June 1993) publisher Alien tried to bridge the gap left
by Andromeda with Pleiades: The Hellenic Magazine of Science Fiction.
At a boisterous meeting in Christos Lazos’ office in which the goal was to
establish a science fiction club, a four-member group calling themselves The
Fantastic Argonauts was formed; they became the compositors and editors of
Pleiades, with the objective of reestablishing a forum for the promotion of
Hellenic science fiction. They would contribute their expertise and time;
Yiorgos Hatzipanagiotou, owner of Alien, would cover the expenses. In Spring
1995, the first issue found its way to the bookstores. As is customary, the
first editorial was filled with pronouncements about the benefits the magazine
would offer to loyal fans. Though the subtitle restricted the magazine’s scope
to sf, the editors claimed that they would not discriminate between the
categories of fantastic literature and would try “to embrace soft and hard
science fiction, space opera, sword and sorcery, horror, fantasy, satire, etc.”
Quality was to be the single criterion (1-2). Moreover, they would accept only
original stories. Entertainment and information were to be the primary concerns.

Modest in price and size (15 x 21 cm), with color covers, Pleiades was
scheduled to appear every three months; but regular circulation remained a
chimera. Between Spring 1995 and Fall 1997, five issues appeared, averaging 80
pages each. Of the nineteen short stories published, seven are by foreign and
twelve by Greek writers. There is nothing innovative about the contents of the
magazine compared with previous endeavors. Perhaps the major difference is the
publication of readers’ letters: many express appreciation for the renewed
effort to encourage and inform the Greek followers of science fiction. Being an
ambitious group, the editorial staff of Pleiades decided to awaken the
dormant interest of the wider public to the presence of Greeks engaged in the
fantastic by establishing an award. The first step was an announcement in the
second issue of Pleiades naming this award “Ikaromenippos” as a tribute
to Lucian, “father” of Hellenic science fiction. After the five-member committee
completed the selection process, the first awards ceremony took place on May 7,
1996. Awards were given for the best sf novel and best short story printed in
1995.9 Unfortunately, the frivolity with which The Fantastic
Argonauts handled the award procedure drew the fire of publisher Yiorgos Bazinas,
who attacked them in his magazine Apagorevmenos Planitis. The mistakes
—especially their violation of the confidentiality of the secret ballots—were
indeed unpardonable. In general, the atmosphere became charged with hostility
and derision. Nasty letters were exchanged, while cool-headed parties from both
camps tried to mediate. Yet this incident demonstrates graphically the rivalry
that afflicts the Hellenic sf community, where many fans and editors are
motivated by personal ambition and self-promotion. In an attempt to bury the
hatchet, The Fantastic Argonauts reserved an award for their rival Yiorgos
Bazinas during the 1997 “Ikaromenippos” ceremony. This friendly gesture
acknowledged Bazinas’ valuable contributions to Greek science fiction: besides
Apagorevmenos Planitis, he has launched a pocket-size book series called
In Orbit. As expected, Bazinas did not appear to accept his award and to
this day maintains a reticent attitude about it. Gradually, Pleiades
averaged sales of 1,800 to 2,000 copies per issue (from 4,000 printed). The
Fantastic Argonauts continued to apologize for the magazine’s belated
appearance, citing professional and personal obligations. But in spite of their
unswerving commitment, the staff could not prevent the magazine’s demise.
Pleiades is no longer active. Distressingly masculinist in
perspective—evidently contented with its utter dependence on a handful of male
editors in their thirties and forties—Pleiades was unable to break out of
the Hellenic sf ghetto. In many respects it resembled a fanzine rather than a
professional magazine.

By contrast, the new Apagorevmenos Planitis, whose first issue
appeared in June 1996 under the guidance of editor-translator Christodoulos
Litharis (almost a year after Pleiades) surpassed all expectations of
professionalism, quality, and variety: its erratic publication confirmed once
again the financial difficulties Greek sf magazines face. Bigger in size than
Pleiades (21 x 27 cm), with original glossy and multi-colored covers,
exquisite internal graphics, and a wide selection of newer styles and writers,
Apagorevmenos Planitis satisfied even the most demanding reader. Though
its high price may have strained the budgets of low-income fans or struggling
students, the material it offered made up for the expense. Apagorevmenos
Planitis should also be credited for its unprecedented effort to promote
women as equal contributors, though the masculine voice still dominated. In its
nine issues (1996-99), eighteen out of one hundred and six stories were by women
(fourteen by Americans and two by Greeks). The majority of the
fiction—sixty-four stories—was still by Americans, with eight stories by British
writers, eight by Greeks, three by Australians, one story each by writers from
Colombia and Poland, and three stories by writers whose nationality was not
identified.10Apagorevmenos Planitis was likewise ahead of its
competitors in covering current sf news, providing biographical notes on
translated authors (as well as original titles and dates), and offering
substantial book and film coverage and recent interviews. In short,
Apagorevmenos Planitis continues to be the major Hellenic sf magazine to
date. Unfortunately, its status has not guaranteed financial success,
demonstrated by the fact that the ninth issue (April-May 1999) was delayed for a
year.

With the eclipse of both Cyborg and Andromeda, the fanzine
market lapsed into obscurity. It was reactivated in February 1997 by Yiorgos
Goulas, editor of the latest venture, Big Bang, a trimonthly with 86
photocopied pages and color covers, published by Apopeira and issued in 300
copies. It concentrates mainly on Anglophone and Hellenic works and is in many
respects superior to its predecessors. In its seven issues have appeared twenty
translated stories and twenty-three stories by Greeks. Big Bang is the
only fanzine to have included, from the first issues, poems by foreign and
native writers. The enthusiastic response of fans has obliged Goulas to continue
his fanzine beyond his initial goal of four issues. Its appeal lies primarily in
its diverse contents, affordable price, and intimate tone. Big Bang
publishes letters to the editor from different parts of Greece, giving voice and
visibility to an otherwise obscure readership. A shift toward Greek male writers
characterizes issues 4 and 5 (January and June 1998), as well as issues 6 and 7
(November 1998 and April 1999). Of nineteen stories in the last four issues, two
are by women.11 In addition, the news section has been expanded in
recent issues to report on various presentations and talks, as well as on the
activities of the Club of the Fantastic, founded in 1997 in Ioannina through the
initiative of Nikos Theodorou.

Another recent venture, Asimov’s Science Fiction in its Greek version,
was undertaken by Yiannis Karaiosifoglou. The first two issues (October and
November 1997) appeared simultaneously and featured translated stories from
recent issues of the Anglophone Asimov’s and Analog. In a Foreword
to the first issue, Karaiosifoglou described the influence of Jules Verne,
calling him “the third most important person in my life after my father and
mother” (5). Emphasizing the didactic power of fantastic literature,
Karaiosifoglou named “Heinlein, Clarke, Dick, Silverberg, and Asimov” as his
“teachers,” crediting their “penetrating” vision with guiding him to “new paths”
and “new hopes” (5). He went on to commend Asimov’s (“a universally
renowned, award-winning magazine”) for its “successful” effort “to search for
the essence of things and of individuals and to present it through allegories”
(5). His hopes for the Greek Asimov’s were high: “the aspiration of the Greek
Asimov’s [is to] ... make us think about the new worlds and the new minds.
In the old, tested way. The way of Jules Verne and Isaac Asimov” (5).
Notwithstanding these ambitions, the first two issues were hastily done. They
not only lacked basic information about the history and editorial staff of the
original magazine—taking for granted the reputation of its founder—but they were
also marred by typographical errors and the omission of the original titles and
translators’ names.

In a two-page editorial in the November 1997 issue, a clumsy sales pitch,
Karaiosifoglou indulged in generalizations about the lack of attention paid to
popular science and science fiction in Greece. Making a familiar complaint
against what he called “the provincialism and arrogance of a small group of
‘deep’ intellectuals,” he castigated critical elitism, lamenting the
marginalization of future-oriented individuals but also blatantly ignoring all
previous Greek publishers, editors, and writers who have attempted to deliver
Greek sf from the ghetto. While “all contemporary societies reward the pioneer
of the future,” Greece alone, he contended, “sends him to isolation. With face
toward the wall” (7).

Unfortunately, no steps were taken to remedy the omissions of the first two
issues: the third Asimov’s appeared in late Spring 1998 (although dated
December 1997), and contained four translated stories printed without any
identification of the translators or the original journal(s) of publication. The
editors announced in that issue a writing competition open to all individuals of
Greek ancestry or nationality. The deadline was May 30, 1998; there were to be
prizes (publication in Asimov’s and a year’s free subscription) for the
best story, the best story by a writer under 21, the best sf story, the best
fantasy or heroic/fantasy story, and the best gothic/horror story (145). The
writing competition may boost Greek readers’ interest in this magazine plagued
by irregular circulation and other shortcomings; it may forestall the Greek
Asimov’s demise, but only temporarily. Neither the contest nor Isaac
Asimov’s reputation is likely to help the magazine in the long run, for it seems
to be a reckless project with limited appeal to seasoned readers of sf. In its
current form, the Greek Asimov’s is incapable of meeting the standards of
its Anglophone prototype.

Well aware of the precarious fate of sf magazines, publisher N.O. Manousos
decided to test the market, given the yearlong absence of Apagorevenos
Planitis. He presented a “pilot” annual issue of a slick color-cover
magazine called Fantastic! (1998). Unlike its predecessors, Fantastic!
put the emphasis on information, featuring articles—on H.P. Lovecraft, William
Gibson, and Isaac Asimov—overview essays on English and Greek sf, book and film
reviews, and discussions of televised sf series. “Crucifixus Etiam” by Walter M.
Miller, Jr. was the only translated story. Apparently, the public response was
lukewarm, for Manousos has yet to publish a second issue.
The most recent endeavor is sf Aν (1998), an avant-garde quarterly which,
according to its editors, aims at presenting “approaches to fantastic literature
and its criticism.” The first issue is dedicated to media and sf. In a short
summary written in English, the editors offer an explanation for its unusual
name: “The title Aν refers to ... the name of An, Sumerian god of the
sky. According to a theory, the supernova Vela X that exploded in Sumeria’s
southern skies 6,000 years ago is reflected in this symbol and might have led to
the creation of writing. Vela X is known as the pulsar PR 0833-45. ‘Αυ’ (an) is
also Greek for ‘if’” (109). The translated stories included are: “I Remember
Babylon” by Arthur C. Clarke, “The Gernsback Continuum” by William Gibson, “The
Greatest Show on Earth” by J.G. Ballard, “Don’t Leave Me” by Barrington J.
Bayley, and “Vile Dry Claws of the Toucan” by Ian Watson. Furthermore, Bill
Babouris analyzes the narrative methods used in Babylon 5, Dimitris
Arvanitis presents a structural approach to sf media in the work of Norman
Spinrad, Spiros Vretos deconstructs the underlying political argument of The
X-Files, and Yannis Andreou discusses virtual reality.

Translating foreign authors in Greece is a lucrative business for publishers,
but not for most translators, who for the most part are private businessmen
following the dictates of a free, competitive market: no university presses are
involved. Most magazine editors and writers engage in fantastic literature
during their spare time and earn their livelihood in such professions as
teaching, engineering, law, and medicine. There are a few prolific professional
translators, but these are in the minority. Well-versed in literary matters,
this small group is comprised of authors, editors, and intellectuals who have
sufficient knowledge and skill to earn a living from translations. But the
majority of translators, by contrast, are treated like temporary factory workers
and are paid by the page, often without contracts. Many Greek publishers hire
college graduates or anyone claiming a certificate of proficiency in a foreign
language. Profit is the number one motive, since many publishers are basically
merchants who lack the education to make informed literary judgments. As a
result, most translations are amateurish—fast jobs that do not do justice to the
original texts. Among professional translators of sf novels and stories, those
who deserve to be credited for quality work are Yiannis Andreou, Dimitris
Arvanitis, Yiorgos Balanos, Vaso Hounou, Lili Ioannidou, Christodoulos Litharis,
Vasilis Kallipolitis, Marina Lomi, Makis Panorios, Marios Verettas, and Thanasis
Vembos. By contrast, many stories in the magazines and fanzines surveyed here
(with the exception of Apagorevmenos Planitis) have been translated by
friends, relatives, or acquaintances of the editors. Some translators are fans
or fledgling writers eager to see their name printed; the quality varies.

According to the statistics provided in the twentieth issue of Ichneftis,
of books published in Greece in 1996, 36.5% were translations. Of these
translations, 60.2% were of works by writers from Europe, 32.5% from the United
States (Voukelatos 13, 19). Thus, one in three books translated in Greece has an
American origin. My own research shows that between 1994 and 1997, translated
foreign sf totals sixty-six novels, seven collections of short stories, and
thirty anthologies. The sum of sf short stories published in magazines,
fanzines, collections, and anthologies comes to 300, almost 100 stories in 1997
alone. The most popular sf authors in Greece since the 1970s have been Douglas
Adams, Brian W. Aldiss, Isaac Asimov, J.G. Ballard, Ray Bradbury, Fredric Brown,
Arthur C. Clarke, Philip K. Dick, Harlan Ellison, William Gibson, Robert E.
Howard, Henry Kuttner, Larry Niven, Robert Sheckley, Robert Silverberg, Clifford
Simak, Clark Ashton Smith, Norman Spinrad, Bruce Sterling, Theodore Sturgeon,
and A.E. van Vogt. Among women sf writers, the most often translated are Lois
McMaster Bujold, Pat Cadigan, Ursula K. Le Guin, Tanith Lee, C.L. Moore, Pat
Murphy, Joanna Russ, James Tiptree, Jr., and Connie Willis.

I mentioned earlier that few Greek women write sf. Only six stories by Greek
women have appeared in the magazines and fanzines surveyed in this essay:
“Skomeftis” by Eleni Goula and “Dragons and Butterflies” by Despoina Voulgari-Graham
(both in the third issue of Big Bang), “Trans” by Christina Oikonomidou
(in the fourth issue of Big Bang), “The Calling,” by Anthippi Fiamou and
“Pitsina Lives” by Maya Diamanti (both in the fifth issue of Apagorevmenos
Planitis), and “Blue Smile” by Maria Chrysophou (in the eighth issue of
Apagorevmenos Planitis). The magazines provided no biographical information
about these fledgling women writers, who have all debuted in the last few years.
Although the scope of this essay is restricted to magazines, I can briefly
mention here the work of Greek women sf novelists who have tried to carve a
place in the male-dominated genre. The first hard sf novel for adult readers
written by a Greek woman was Frantzeska L. Stellakatou’s Traveling to the
Moon and Mars (1963), which places not only “men” on the moon (and Mars) but
pioneers of both genders. The Foreword by Dr. Hermann Oberth, a German professor
of physics, praises the novel’s scientific accuracy and verisimilitude. Other sf
novels by Greek women include Euridiki 2000 (1984) by Veta Papadaki;
In the Mold of the Green Suns (1984) and My Brother Cain (1986) by
Ersi Lage; Don’t, I am Still Alive (1991) by Maria Polenaki; Odyssey
2016 (1994), Messages from the Dimension of Silence (1995), The
Final Confrontation (1996), And The Sphinx Smiled (1997) by Hero
Yiannopoulou; and finally Hovering Reality (1997) by Alexia Athanasiou.
Greek women novelists do outnumber men in the category of sf for young adults
and children. They have dominated that field since 1957 and have imbued Hellenic
juvenile and young-adult sf with a feminine and feminist perspective, often
daring to discuss issues deemed inappropriate for younger audiences and exposing
Greek youngsters to current affairs and scientific dilemmas. The most prolific
of these writers for young adults during the last twenty years have been Kira
Sinou and Nitsa Tzortzoglou, whose novels show craftsmanship, imagination,
accuracy, and breadth of knowledge.

The new explosion of fantastic literature in Greece, the increase in sales,
the widening readership, the involvement of more loyal fans in various
publishing adventures, the sprouting of fan clubs in Thessaloniki, Ioannina, and
Athens, and the willingness of some mainstream publishers to print sf novels or
anthologies all have contributed to the creation of a more favorable climate.
Also important have been the efforts of writers, translators and editors, also
such outside forces as the popularity of Hollywood sf films, the telecasts of
such series as Star Trek, Babylon 5, The X-Files, and a steady dose of sf
movies on Greek TV channels. Whether the roots of fantastic literature and
especially science fiction have penetrated deeply enough through the popular
media to ensure the continuation of written sf remains to be seen. Under the
seemingly euphoric atmosphere lurks financial disaster, as the purchasing power
of the Greek readership fluctuates and market prosperity is mainly an affair of
numbers and statistics.

Magazine science fiction in Greece has come a long way, but the road is still
uphill. Despite a limited readership, its production continues to defy the odds.
It is the loyalty, perseverance, and stubbornness of fans, authors, translators,
and editors who keep science fiction—both foreign and domestic—visible. When a
magazine grows unprofitable, Greek publishers either drop the project or shift
funds from books to make up the difference. When delays accentuate the hunger of
fans, the cycle begins again, either by reviving discontinued magazines or by
launching new ones. The fact that many young readers have adequate knowledge of
English and may prefer to read sf in the original rather than wait for a
translation also contributes to the crisis. Though few, the bookstores
specializing in fantastic literature do import recent titles and current issues
of magazines published in the UK and the US. Notwithstanding all the obstacles,
the future of science fiction in Greece will remain bright as long as loyal
supporters of the genre continue their efforts.

The products of technological revolution invaded Greece in the early 1990s
and are radically transforming Greek social relations and living habits. The
working environment has been computerized to a great degree, high-tech
commodities compete for consumers’ paychecks, and the video game craze has swept
the younger generation. Technology-related degree programs have been instituted
in the local universities and private colleges. Private cable channels and
satellite television are providing an ever-increasing dose of sf films and
series; news reports cover the activities of NASA and the European Space Agency;
such specialized magazines as Millennium, Night Sky, and Astronautiki
supply the latest information about space exploration and scientific
research. Private companies are now providing subscriptions to the Internet and
access to global web sites. Cellular phones have become as common as
toothbrushes. All these innovations have made contemporary Greeks realize that
the Age of Space and Technology has arrived in our country.

One may assume that such changes will accentuate the public’s interest in a
“new mythology,” as science fiction has often been called. But the current boom
in book titles may fizzle out as in the past if publishers continue to face
periodic crises. More magazines of all types have been founded in Greece during
the 1990s than in any other decade; as a consequence, the magazine market is
becoming glutted. The most successful mainstream periodicals sell between 40,000
to 50,000 copies per issue; sf magazines boast of a great achievement when their
circulation reaches 4,000 copies. The future looks promising, but there are too
many uncontrollable factors influencing the publishing establishment. In a
nation of ten million people, close to 500 publishers produce over 5,000 new
titles annually. Capitalizing on current trends and publishing indiscriminately
items that have captured foreign audiences may be a risky strategy in the
ever-shifting, highly competitive, profit-oriented Hellenic book market. Greek
sf writers, editors, and publishers must maintain a high visibility if they are
to retain the loyalty of the small core of fans. Patience is strained every time
a deadline is violated. Rivalry often leads to petty squabbles, tarnishing the
reputation of disinterested individuals who devote their time and experience to
keeping alive the public interest in science fiction. Trying to maintain
cohesion and respectability and at the same time trying to counter the insidious
attacks of those who continue to deride science fiction as “escapist trash” for
mindless readers seem to be the most pressing challenges facing Hellenic science
fiction in the coming century.

NOTES1. The anthology issued by Galaxias in 1961 features translated short stories by
E.M. Forster, Fritz Leiber, Isaac Asimov, Eric Frank Russell, John Wyndham,
Fredric Brown, Ron Goulart, and Oliver Sand. The novels translated during the
1960s are: K. Volkov’s Voyage to Venus (1960), Pierre Benoit’s L’
Atlantide (1961), James Hilton’s Lost Horizon (1961), Stanislaw Lem’s
Solaris (1961), Robert Louis Stevenson’s The Strange Case of Dr.
Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1968), Edmond Hamilton’s The War of Suns (1968),
Rex Merriman’s The Screamies (1968), Arthur C. Clarke’s 2001: A Space
Odyssey (1968), and H.G. Wells’s The First Men in the Moon (1969),
The Time Machine (1969), and The Invisible Man (1969). Novels by H.G.
Wells may have been translated earlier, but I could not locate any editions
before 1969. Greece is notorious for its bibliographic chaos and its lack of
reference materials. There is no systematic indexing or record-keeping; reliable
statistics about book production and circulation are a phenomenon of the late
1980s. There are no official records kept for books no longer in print. Most
Greek publishers are tight-lipped when it comes to providing information related
to their publishing activity. Unless otherwise noted, all translations from the
Greek in this essay are by the author.

2. For statistics, tables, and lists mapping the translation and production of
foreign sf texts in Greece, see Pastourmatzi, Bibliography of Science
Fiction, Fantasy, and Horror: 1960-1993.

3. This information was given to me personally during an interview in October
1992.

4. See Martinides. Petros Martinides is an Assistant Professor at the School of
Architecture at the Aristotle University of Thessaloniki; he likes to dabble in
“paraliterature,” taking a highbrow attitude. His conclusions are very damaging,
for he takes an elitist approach, broadly condemning works outside the
traditional literary canon as “wish-fulfilling activity” catering to the
“fantasies” and “desires” of undemanding readers (225). In his opinion, despite
“examples of high stylistic craftsmanship,” sf remains “a literature of escape”
and can be read without any special intellectual effort or cognitive alertness:
sf offers, in his view, neither “historical information and reenactment of
events” nor “the informational value of a treatise or ... ecumenical
problematics as in the analyses of serious literature” (215, 220, 223). His
other rash assumption is that male sf authors deal with “human” and “universal”
themes, while such women writers as Ursula K. Le Guin are trapped in “feminine”
topics. In the six pages he devotes to The Left Hand of Darkness,
Martinides concludes that Le Guin’s imagination is “persecuted by the problems
of her sex” (89).

6. Additional Greek stories printed in Cyborg are “Reality Transformator”
by Yiorgos Perifanis, “Nightmare” by Dimitris Vekios, “Proceed to the Second
Password” by Stelios Aronis, “Do Not Press the Omnipotent” and “More Complicated
than the Universe, More Changeable than Time” by Kostas Koutsoukos, and
“Clepsydra’s Last Grains” by Dimitris Fyssas.

7. Since the original titles are unavailable, I note the names of the writers
featured in the two issues of Nova: Brian W. Aldiss, Fredric Brown, Algis
Budrys, Philip K. Dick, Damon Knight, Julian Flood, William Gibson, Dean Koontz,
Larry Niven, Bob Shaw, and John Shirley.

8. In order of appearance, the Greek stories printed in Chorochronos are:
“Waiting for You Since Morning” by Thanasis Mantzaras, “By the Western Light
Ressurrected” and “Sentinel” by Yiannis Kalivas, “High Flight” and “The Nun” by
Marios Avgoustatos, the novella “The End of the City” by Thanasis Mantzaras,
“Havoc Came from Internet” by Nikos Kanakaris, and the novella “Aurea Sharp” by
Yiannis Kalivas.

9. For a detailed report on the awards, see “News from the Hellenic
Science-Fiction Front” and “SF in Greece.”

10. To give some idea of the stories published in the new Apagorevmenos
Planitis, here are the contents of the seventh issue, devoted to the Golden
Age: “Trends” by Isaac Asimov, “The Twonky” by Lewis Padgett, “The Seesaw” by
A.E. Van Vogt, “Uncle Einar” by Ray Bradbury, “Knock” by Fredric Brown, “The Man
Who Evolved” by Edmond Hamilton, “Period Piece” by J.J. Coupling, “The Strange
Case of John Kingman” by Murray Leinster, “Defense Mechanism” by Katherine
MacLean, “The Fires Within” by Arthur C. Clarke, and “Memorial” by Theodore
Sturgeon. In previous issues the magazine featured stories from the 1970s,
1980s, and 1990s. The eighth issue (Spring 1998) contained the following
stories: “Outside” by Brian W. Aldiss, “Controlled Experiment” by Rick Conley,
“The New Pre-History” by Rene Rebetez-Cortez, “Life Hutch” by Harlan Ellison,
“The Tale of the Computer That Fought a Dragon” by Stanislaw Lem, “Inconstant
Moon” by Larry Niven, “What is Life?” by Robert Sheckley, “Fat Vampire” by
Norman Spinrad, and “Noise” by Jack Vance. The ninth issue (April-May 1999)
featured the stories “Lost Boys” by Orson Scott Card, “Someone Who Understands
Me” by Matthew Costello, “Mefisto in Onyx” by Harlan Ellison, “Silicon Muse” by
Hilbert Schenck, “Dori Bangs” by Bruce Sterling, “Null-P” by William Tenn, and
“The Four” by Gary Woodland.